Brother, Brother
by PoisonBones
Summary: I think my life began when we brought him home. And that it started to matter when she died, when we ran away. He became my brother, I became a monster. Life's not fair, some people have to learn that the hard way. And some have to stop and make the most of whats there.
1. Birthday Gift

March 24, 1932

I rolled over in my bed, and grimaced as the golden sunlight hit my eyes, passing through the parted curtains. I turned away from the window towards the hallway, to stare at my smiling mother.

"Happy Birthday, honey," She said sweetly, "Why don't you get dressed? We have somewhere to be."

"Where?" I sat up hurriedly in my bed.

"Calm down," She laughed, "Get ready and meet me in the car."

She turned and left. I launched myself from my bed and hurtled towards the closet. Yanking the doors open, I began to search for something clean. I settled on a long sleeve gray shirt, blue-jeans, and my camouflage army jacket. I raced down stairs, out the door and, and practically threw myself into the backseat.

"Where are we going, Mom?" I asked anxiously. I noticed she was wearing her best dress, the white one with the red roses printed on the collar.

"Relax, you'll see." She smiled, and we pulled out of the drive.

I bounced on my seat all the way to our destination. It never occurred to me that I could have looked out the window to see where we were going.

When we came to a stop, I jumped out of the car. When I read the label on the brick building before me I frowned. My mother stood from the car and stepped up beside me.

"Why are we here?" I asked gazing up at her.

She bent down to my level, "Do you remember last year, when you asked for a little brother?"

"Yeah. Why are we at the Adoption Center though?" I asked confused.

"Paul Michael Sanderson, we're here to get you a baby brother."


	2. My New Brother

Dozens of little kids swarmed around me, pulling on my clothes and poking me. The lady up front had told us to go see and meet some of the kids before we filled out our form. My mother told me to pick one I liked, as if they were toys on a shelf. I didn't like any single one of these kids. They pushed and talked too much. I want someone I can talk to, someone who will listen. And of all other things knows when he has crossed the line on talking. There was a knock on the door.

A brown haired woman with a long narrow face stuck her head in, "You may fill out your form now."

My mom pulled my hand, "I don't want to go, I'll stay in here." I said.

"Okay, come into the office if you want, I'll be in there." My mom said. I watched her go. I turned back to the massive group of children running around the room. 'Oh boy' I thought. I wondered if maybe they had a room with quieter kids. With this thought I walked out into the hall, I walked by several other rooms, all containing children. But all these kids were noisy as well. I came to a stop at the end of the hall. There was an open door, which I gazed through. The room was set up like a kindergarten classroom. There were building blocks piled up in the corner, pictures of cartoon characters adorned the soft yellow walls. And in the center of the room was a red table. Sitting at the table was a boy, no older than 7. He was moving a bit, it looked like he was drawing. I stepped into the room and walked up to stand next to him. Looking over his shoulder at his drawing took my breath away. It wasn't that the drawing was perfect down to the last detail, which believe me it was, it was the fact that the drawing was of me. I was standing in the doorway, the same way I had been just a few moments before. I closed my mouth and swallowed. There was no way he could have seen me. He had his back to me the whole time.

I reached over and pulled a second chair from the table. I watched him draw a while longer.

"Whatcha drawing?" I asked. The boy kept his head bent. "That's really good." I continued. Silence. I sighed, how hard could it be to get a boy to talk to you. I knew he wasn't deaf. Every time I talked he flinched.

"My names—!"

"Paul." The boys answer was abrupt. I closed my mouth, taken aback. This was just plain weird.

"What's your name?" I asked leaning forward.

"Marko." The boy lifted his head to look at me for the first time. I took in his appearance, hundreds of dishwater blonde bob curls covered his head, his jaw bone was at a gentle curve, his lips were a rosy pink, and the biggest teal colored eyes I'd ever seen stared back at me. I frowned at him though. His skin was pale, like he had the flu or had just recently recovered from it.

"That's a nice name." I said.

"Thanks." Marko replied, still staring at me. Unblinking. Continuously. Alright, either this kid was well on his way to crazy town, or was already there.

"No problem. So how old are you?" I asked.

"Six."

"That's cool. I turned twelve today."

"You must be so proud."

"That was rude."

"What'd you expect?"

"That's neat?"

"What's so important about a number?"

"You're quite the smartass aren't you?"

"I prefer indirectly correct."

"Can I call you insolent?"

"Would I ever call you agog?"

"No?"

"Not to your face."

I smiled in spite of myself. I had to admit, though he was an arrogant asshole, Marko never ceased to amuse me. And I've known the kid for five minutes!

"Paul?" My mother's voice came from the hallway. She poked her head in the room. "Hi hon. Who's this?"

"This is Marko." I said gesturing to him.

"Hi. Paul, do you take a liking to Marko?"

"He's weird."

Marko turned back to look at my mother, "You're Miss Anne Jacobson."

My mother smiled, "I see Paul took time to introduce me."

"I didn't say anything about you." I said truthfully.

My mother frowned, "Well then how did he know my name?"

"I told you he was weird."

"Not weird, eccentric. You need to extend your vocabulary." Marko said stubbornly.

I looked at him, then back at my mother, "He's also kind of rude."

My mom looked at me for a second, then came over and joined us at our table. "So Marko, how old are you?"

"How old are you Anne?" Marko asked. I poked him in the ribs. "I just wanted to know." He said dully.

"It's not nice to say that to someone older than you." I retorted.

Marko turned back to my mother, "Sorry. Im six."

My mom smiled. She leaned back in her chair and looked over at me. I knew the question she was asking and nodded. She looked back at Marko, "Marko? I have a question."

"What?"

"Would you like to come home with us?"

"You wanna adopt me?"

"Yes. It would be a pleasure if you would."

"Are you going to put me in school?"

"You don't need to be in school for another year."

"Please? I can already read and write."

"Well if you absolutely want to, I guess you could go to school."

"So if I let you take me home youll put me in school?"

"Sure."

Marko paused and looked thoughtful.

My mom took a breath, "So would you like to come home with us?"

Marko looked up. He smiled an innocent smile, "It would be nice."


	3. Authors Note

My New Brother: Authors Note

Hope you guys enjoyed chapter 2, I had a really strong urge to give Marko a high intelligence and more maturity than most 6 year olds. Chapter four will be up sometime in the next day or so. Feel free to review I am open to all positive and negative comments if you have an idea you think would make the story better you can add those in too. This is my first fan fiction so any feedback would be great. Hope you enjoy!


	4. Home Sweet Home

Marko chattered most of the way home, and that's a lot of talking. We live three hours from the Adoption Home. There were a couple of times when he shut up to look out the window. We live on the outskirts of town, so there were less houses and a plentiful amount of trees. Anyway, remember when I said I didn't like people who talk a lot? Well, Marko talks a lot. But not in a bad way. Have you ever had that annoying moment where you have 2 perfectly clean socks, but when you put them on only one itches? Yes? No? Well, people who talk a lot are like that. You can have one that talks all the time and its really annoying, then you have the other one who talks all the time but all it does is brings a smile to your face. Marko is definitely the second one. One thing I've noticed about Marko, he isn't shy. He struck up a conversation with my mom as soon as we got into the car. One thing still bothers me about him though. When I saw him drawing in the room at the red table, he had not turned around. He had kept his back to me the whole time. So how did he know I was watching him, and more importantly, how did he know the way I was standing?

This question unsettled me until we pulled into the driveway. Marko launched out of the backseat and onto the pavement outside. I laughed at him. He stood and brushed himself off; hardly aware he had just fallen flat on his face.

"Wow! This is your house?" Marko looked at me with his question.

"Sure is bud." I replied shutting the door to my side of the car.

"It's awesome." He said. I smiled; no one had been awestruck by my house before.

Marko began to drag his things out of the car. He hadn't brought much, and I wondered if what he did bring was all he had. I winced at the thought; he had to have something more than what was in that duffel bag.

Without hesitation Marko took off for the house. He paraded through the front door and disappeared inside. My mother stood from the driver's side.

"Well, he's quite the erratic little fellow isn't he?" She said, watching the front door bounce off the hard wood lining.

I smiled, "I like him. He seems like a good kid."

"Smart too. Did you notice how mature he was at the clinic? And to think that he's only six." My mother pulled her purse out of her seat and shut her door. "C'mon. We have to get him a room fixed up."

"Do we have to do it now?"

"Can you go a night sharing your room?"

"Yes."

My mother looked at me with her 'You can't possibly be serious' face.

"Fine." I groaned. We started for the house.

When we stepped through the door, Marko was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey! Where'd you go?" I yelled. Marko came racing down the stairs.

"Have you guys ever noticed that every room in your house is color coded in pattern?" He asked us.

Me and my mother looked at each other, "No." We said in unison.

"Well come look, it's really cool." He turned and bolted back up the steps. We followed behind him closely.

"Look, this one's walls are a blue." Marko said gesturing into my mom's room, "And this one's yellow. It repeats the same pattern until you get to the kitchen, then it changes colors. Come look, follow!" He took off down the hallway.

My mother sighed, "God, he never stops."

"Is that such a bad thing?" I asked, "He's just a kid. Give him time, he'll mature."

"He's really hyperactive though."

I smiled at my mother's uncertainty, "That's why I like him."My mother rolled her eyes at me and followed the jittery boy down the hall.

"And then your kitchens white, your living rooms green and then your laundry room is pink." Marko leaned on his knees, "I like the blue bedroom best. If you look at the ceiling long enough it starts to look like a face."

"You figured all this out in the 2 minutes that you were in here alone?" My mom asked Marko smiling. She was amused. 'This just might work' I thought. I hadn't believed that adopting a kid would be a successful event, but right about now, I've got some faith.

"Yeah, I'm actually surprised you never noticed it before. It's really interesting actually." Marko noted.

"I will certainly pay attention next time." My mom put her hand s on her hips as she said this, "Well; Marko do you want a place to sleep tonight?"

"Yeah." Marko said plainly.

"Then c'mon, your bedroom ain't gonna make itself."

Marko, I, and my mom worked hard on Marko's new room. We brought an old bed frame down from the attic, and we brought the mattress and box spring up from the basement. We got spare sheets and comforters from the hall closet, and he brought his own pillow. We moved my old oak dresser into the corner, and packed it with his clothes and personal items. Marko produced a basketball poster from his bag, and asked to put it up on the wall.

"That's not all we can do. Stay here, I'll be right back." My mom turned and disappeared into the hall. She returned holding a large wooden picture frame. "We can put it in here if you want too."

Marko nodded eagerly. When that was said and done, we weren't finished. We went and got a bookshelf from our neighbor, Burt, who just happened to be a carpenter. We put it against the wall beside a large ceiling to floor chalkboard. We put his toothbrush and toothpaste in the cabinet above the bathroom sink, along with a box of band aids, a bottle of disinfectant, Lysol, and a thermometer. We put fresh towels and tissues in the bathroom closet. And we put up a clean shower curtain in front if the tub.

We stood back and looked at the masterpiece we had created.

"That bed looks so comfortable right now." Marko said. "I like it. Thank you."

I ruffled his hair, "Anything for my new little brother." I smiled down at him.

My mom took a deep breath, "You two need to get some sleep. It's almost nine. That took a lot of time."

"It was worth it though." Marko said, looking up at her.

She smiled sweetly at him, "Yes it was." She looked up at me, "Why don't you guys get changed into your PJ's, and I'll make some quick dinner?"

"Sounds fine. C'mon Marko." I said. We went to the bathroom to cleanup.

My mom made rice and chicken for dinner. After we ate, Marko thanked my mom for making food and went straight up stairs and put himself to bed, while me and my mom cleaned up the dishes.

We worked in silence for about a minute, and then my mom began to speak.

"I think you right."

"About what?" I asked.

"Marko. He is a good kid." I put the last dish in the cabinet.

"I knew he was a good kid when I saw him." I said. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight mom."

"Night hon. Check on Marko while you're up there too please."

"Alright." I turned up the stairs and peeked in Marko's room. He was out like a light. I went and got myself ready to sleep.

I flopped down on my bed. I smiled to myself, "Good day."


	5. From The Eyes Of The Mother

Anne's POV

"Mornin' sunshine." I said enthusiastically, putting down my book, as Marko came down the stairs, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. We had had Marko for about a month, and the boy was joy to have around.

His eyes lit up when he saw me, and I was sad to deliver the news, "They postponed school again." I said, I reached back and rubbed his arm.

He groaned, "Why?"

"There's still too much mold." Our local school had had a health check about two weeks before we had adopted Marko, turns out there was a large amount of toxic mold found in the electricity room, making it unable to be taught in. They were going to do classes in the Catholic Church, but I would rather die than have Marko start school being taught by a priest, same with Paul.

"Why can't we go to school with mold?"

"Because you could get sick." I said looking back at him.

"If I get to go to school I don't care if I'm sick." He said stubbornly.

I laughed, "But I don't want you to be sick. I want you to be happy and healthy."

"I am happy and healthy." I smiled wide, Marko was more eager to go to school than when Paul found out that women dance naked on TV. What can I say? My kid was fast to mature.

I sat up from the couch, "Why don't we get you some food before I have to leave for work?"

Marko looked a little distant for a second, then he came back to reality, "What?"

I touched his back gently, "I asked if you were hungry."

"Yeah." Marko took for the kitchen. I put the bookmark in to hold my page and set the novel down on the coffee table.

I followed Marko into the kitchen, "So what do you want?"

"Food, duh." I chuckled at Marko's snappy comeback.

I pulled open the cabinets doors, "How about eggs?"

Marko grimaced.

"I'll take that as a no?" Marko shook his head. "Don't like eggs?"

"No," Marko paused, "Their smell makes my stomach hurt."

"Okay. We have biscuits and bacon, will you eat that?" I asked, pulling open the fridge.

"Yeah." He replied.

"So how'd you sleep?"

"Fine."

"That's good."

"I had a bad dream."

"I'm sorry. What happened?"

"I woke up in the driveway, and I got up to walk to the house, but every step I took the house got farther away, instead of closer. So I turned around, and there was this old lady, and she started to laugh, and then I was f-f-falling." He stuttered on the last word. He yawned. He had lied, he hadn't slept well.

I ran a comforting hand through his hair, "Well it's not real, and no old lady is gonna laugh at you," I rubbed his hair, feeling it; "You need to take a shower."

"What about food?"

"It'll be done when you get out. Go on, I'll cook." I gave him a gentle push on the head, and watched him ascend the stairs. I gave a deep sigh, "Old lady."

I said to myself, such a peculiar thing to dream about. Replaying what he said in my mind, it turned and began to cook breakfast. I put the biscuits in the oven and the bacon on the stovetop.

I was humming to myself quietly when my neighbor, Burt, walked in. Burt had been my neighbor for almost 13 years now, and speaking to him never got old. He was a jolly old man, never took much serious, a very talented carpenter, and my best friend since Pauls father, Don, enlisted in the war.

Burt was also a well raised man; as soon as he stepped into the kitchen he removed his hat, "Mornin' Miss Anne. How the kids been treatin' ya'?"

I smiled at his slang, "Quite fine Burt, thanks for asking. How have you been?"

"Good n' well. And you?"

"I'm wonderful."

"And the children? They have been healthy, I presume?"

I frowned, "Why yes Burt, why wouldn't they be?"

Burt looked concerned, "You didn't hear?"

"Hear what?"

"The Kerrie's down off route 4 came down with a case of influenza. Mary's startin' to show some symptoms too."

"All of'em?"  
"All of'em. Just came around to make sure your boys is good n' healthy."

"Well I'll check on them to make sure they're alright. Sorry about Mary. She gonna be okay?"

"Don't know quite yet, doc said could be a few days till' it spreads. I suggest them boys stay in till' Mary recovers, keep the house clean, and a washin' to their hands before meals would be good too. Don't need no virus runnin' amok out here."

I stood straighter, and turned to flip the bacon in the grease, "Alright, I'll do that. You gonna stay for breakfast? There's plenty to go around."

Burt nodded his head in appreciation, "I thank for your offer Miss Anne, but I gotta go take care for Mary."

"Well, you can come any time you need to Burt," I said, I was a little disappointed, Burt was nice to have around and he was a good role model for Paul. "You better go care for Mary now shouldn't you?"

"Yes. Thank you for having me Miss Anne."

"My pleasure. Goodbye Burt."

"Bye." I waited until Burt left to lean back and be thoughtful about what he said. Influenza, down here? It seemed odd, but a lot of weird things happen down and out.

The alarm for the food went off and I pulled the biscuits out of the oven, and the bacon off the stovetop.

"What's that smell?" I looked up to find Paul standing at the foot of the stairs. It took me a second but then I could smell it too.

I frowned, "I don't know." I turned and examined the stove, then I saw it. Rice, leftover from last night's early dinner, had been left out on the stove.

"Oh shit!" I yelped, reaching for the handle. I pulled it off the stove and threw it in the sink. "So much for reheating it for supper tonight."

"You did reheat it." Paul said, waving a hand in front of his face, "Where's Marko?"

I looked at the smoking pot in the basin, "He's in the shower."

"What's that smell?" Marko asked coming down the stairs, his curls tight on his head from the water of the shower.

"Mom burnt a whole pot of rice." Paul said with distaste.

I rolled my eyes, "Paul, you need to get dressed," My eyes drifted to the clock "And I'm gonna be late!"

I turned leapt up the stairs. I ran to my bedroom and began to rip through the closet, looking for a good dress or skirt to wear to work.

"Why do I have to get dressed?" Paul asked leaning against the frame of my door.

"Because we need bread, butter, and milk. Can you go to the store and get those things please?" I asked, I was pulling on a blue dress that I had grabbed from the very back of the closet. It smelled like dust.

"Yeah I can get that stuff." Paul said.

"Good. Oh, and stay away from Burt's will you, Mary's got the flu, and I don't need you two sick."

"How'd she get sick?" Marko questioned, poking his head out from behind Paul.

"I don't know. Work maybe? Guys I gotta go can't be late."

I grabbed my shoes and took off, out the door, and to the car. "Guys I gotta work late today. There's pizza in the fridge for dinner. Be good, Bye!" I got in the car and pulled out of the drive. My boss was going to have a hissy fit if I was late.

I pulled into the drive of my work building right as the clock turned to eight thirty. I closed the door behind me and gritted my teeth at the voice I heard.

"You're late."

I turned to stare in the eyes of my arch nemesis, Mindy Lucastown.

"Hello Mindy." I said through clenched teeth. This was going to be a long day. A _very_ long day indeed.


	6. The Man At The Door

Anne's POV

I closed the front door to the house at about 10 pm. I was too tired to even think about checking on the boys, and that would cost me. I dropped my bag at the door and climbed the stairs to my room. Slipping off my shoes; I got into my bed with my clothes on and shut my eyes. I think that I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

I woke up the next morning to find Paul staring at me.

"Marko's sick." Was all he said, He climbed off my bed and left the room.

I looked out the window and huffed, "What?"

I groaned as I pulled my covers off of me and stumbled down the hall to Marko's room. I looked in and absorbed it. Marko was still asleep.

"How do you know he's sick?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.

"Last night, he got sick, and again this morning." Paul began to pick at his fingernails.

I walked over and sat on Marko's bed. Feeling his forehead I said, "Paul, bring me the thermometer from the bathroom."

Paul turned to follow the instruction while I yawned. I gazed down at Marko. He shifted a little, and then opened one eye to look at me.

"Hi." He said weakly.

"Hey. Do you not feel good?" I asked.

"No."

"Okay. Paul, hurry up!" Paul emerged from the bathroom holding a glass tube filled with a red liquid. I took it and turned to Marko, "Open up."

Marko opened his mouth only enough for me to stick the thermometer under his tongue. Waiting for the reading to come up, I looked at him a little closer. He was pale, his eyes were glossy, and he looked absolutely miserable.

"You look like a zombie." Paul said.

"You look like something even a dog wouldn't eat." Marko retorted.

"And what might that be?"

"A vegetable."

"I'm a vegetable? You're the one who's green."

Marko's face fell, "I'm not green."

"You are a little green." I said chuckling. I pulled the thermometer out of his mouth and read the scale, "101.2."

Paul rubbed his hand on his jeans, "Now you're an overheated vegetable."

"Keep it up and I'm gonna puke on you." Marko said.

I looked down at him, "I think he means it."

"Or maybe I'll breathe on you tonight, get you sick. Then you won't find it so funny."

Paul stood up a little straighter, "You wouldn't."

"Don't tempt me." Marko tipped his head to look at the ceiling and closed his eyes. He was exhausted.

"Alright you two quit bickering. Paul, bring up a glass of cold water from the kitchen." I said, yawning again. I stood and went into the bathroom. I pulled a clean washrag from the closet and got it wet. I took it into the bedroom and put it on Marko's forehead. He released a deep sigh.

"What?" I asked putting gentle pressure on it.

"It feels good." He said, "I'm freezing but I'm sweating. Is that normal?"

I smiled, "No, that's not normal. You are going to have to stay in bed. I think I'm gonna take off work, so I can make sure Paul doesn't turn you into a science experiment."

"I can take care of myself." He said tiredly.

Paul walked in with a glass of water in his hand. He set it down on the bed stand and looked at me.

"You need to leave. You can't be sick too." I looked down at Marko again. "I'm going to call my boss to tell her I can't come in today, and you are going to sleep."

"No problem." Marko muttered. I stood and shooed Paul out of the room and closed the door behind us.

I went down stairs. I walked into the kitchen and immediately began to dread my decision. Taking a deep breath, I closed my fingers around the neck of the telephone. I began press the numbers to my work, and I almost groaned as the phone started to ring. I was exhausted, my kid was sick, and I was about to get a mouthful from Mindy. Great, just what I want at 7 o'clock in the morning.

The ringing stops and the dragging, high pitched voice that I loathe answered, "Hello?"

"Hi Mindy, it's Anne." I said, almost annoyed.

"Anne? Oh Anne. Look when you come in today I have a special job for you."

"Mindy, that's why I'm calling, I can't-!"

"Somebody lost it in the bathroom, and I need somebody to clean it up."

"Just tell the janitor."

"Yeah, he's the one who threw up. He went home without cleaning up his mess, literally."

"Why don't you clean it up?"

"I'm wearing my nice clothes."

"You don't think I wear nice clothes to work?"

"Anne, please, those rags? You look like you wear a potato sack every day. In fact, where do you get your clothes, the dumpster? Why don't you go down to Tabitha's and have her make you a nice one. Oh wait, you can't afford that, because you're a temp agent."

I looked at the phone; I wonder how long it would take the police to find her body at the bottom of a ditch, "Look, I can't come into work today."

"And why the hell not?"

"My sons sick."

"The adopted one? Why am I not surprised."

No, a ditch was too conspicuous. Maybe putting her body in her suped up Packard Twelve with a bottle of whiskey would be better, "What's that supposed mean?"

"You don't know? Those children from adoption clinics anymore, god knows what sickness they bring with them."

My hands shook, "You don't talk about my kid that way. I'm not coming in and that's final."

"I'm docking your pay." She hung up. I looked at the phone in my hand, and in one moment of recklessness, I threw it against the wall. I leaned against the banister and took a deep breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Burt standing in the hall, looking amused.

I sighed, "What do you need Burt?"

"You need a phone replacement." He said; bending over to pick up pieces of plastic that had scattered across the floor.

I laughed, "Yeah, a new phone, so I can listen to Mindy _Mucas_town bitch in a whole new way."

Burt frowned "I do believe its Lucastown, Miss Anne."

"Oh no its Mucastown. Have you ever seen her when she cries? Her nose turns into a waterfall."

"That sounds unpleasant to see."

"Oh it's revolting." I ran a hand threw my hair and sighed.

Burt lifted his head to look at me, "One of the boys is sick ain't they?"

I looked at him for a second, and then slid down the wall into a sitting position. My silence was his answer.

"Oh Miss Anne I am so sorry for this." He said standing.

I frowned, "Burt, none of this is your fault. Why would you say something like that?"

"I guarantee that they're sick of what I brought along."

"Burt, its fine. How is Mary by the way?"

"Better. She is moving around better, but she is still weak." He looked down. I know it hurt him to see his wife so ill. And with her condition that she was in before, it must be painful, like a burn in your lungs when you run. Aching inside and there is nothing you can do to dull the striking throb. "She'll be fine." I reassure him. I hope I am right.

"Which one?" Burt asks, raising his head.

"Marko." I reply plainly.

"Alright, I'll be going then." He turned to leave.

"See ya'!" I called out after him. I forgot to ask why he was here. I didn't really care, I was tired.

Paul stuck his head into the hall, "So are you staying home?"

"Yeah." I said.

"Can I go out with some friends?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because this house has not been properly cleaned since before Marko came home." He groaned as I said this. He dreads cleaning his room, with good reason.

"Well," I said putting my hands together, "Lets get started."

Hours later, we sat down. We had scrubbed swept and vacuumed every inch of this house. I looked at the clock. We had started at about 8, it was now 1 o'clock.

"Phew." I say breathlessly. That was a much bigger job than I thought it would be. I looked over at Paul, "You may now go out with some friends."

He smiled, "Thanks mom. I'll be back for dinner." He stood and left.

I sat on the couch, and thought about some things. Mostly Mary. Mary had been diagnosed with breast cancer 4 years ago. She married Burt 30 years ago, and at the sparkling age of 55, her and Burt couldn't live together better. Ever since the cancer started, Burt was jumpy of each little thing, always worried of her health. She was slowly getting worse, and just recently she had been quite poorly. There were times when Burt would sob so hard for his wife that she sent him outside. I actually sometimes wish Burt would not doubt Mary so; she was not a weak woman. I ponder these thoughts, until, eventually, I drift to sleep.

I don't know how long I am asleep, only that I wake to the ring of the phone. I stand clumsily, still disoriented from sleep. I am still wearing yesterdays work dress, and I am surprised at how dirty I feel. I stumble to the hallway and lift the phone to my ear, "Hello?"

"Anne? Where are you? You need to come in. I can't take this anymore!" It's Mindy.

I groan, I had broken the phones cover, yes, but sadly not enough to cause the phone not to work at all. "Mindy, what do you want; I told you I couldn't come in."

"Well what do you want me to do?" She whined, she was upset, about cleaning the bathroom or something. "I can't work all these phones by myself."

"I do it every day."

"Well you don't have anything better to do."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're an expert, and that you can get your lifeless ass down here to fix this!"

Anger began to roil and twist inside me. Lifeless? That slut wouldn't know the difference between a fishhook and a real worm if she sat on it. "Look, you're not the only one with a job outside of the agency." I say. No, I don't say it. I growl it. I am angry beyond the devil.

"Well, I don't care! You will come down here now!"

"I most certainly will not."

"I can't handle and manage four phone lines at once!"

Something inside me snaps, like wood and a wedge, and Mindy's the bitch with the hammer, "You listen to me, you hear my voice? I handle those lines every day, okay. Every fucking day, dammit! So don't you call me say you can't manage those lines."

There is a pause at the end of the line. But this silence is short lived, "How dare you curse at me."

I laugh out loud, "How dare I? Really, you're going to pull that sorry ass line? Ever since you got your promotion to manager you've treated everyone like dirt. Because you seem to think that you are above everyone else with your heels clikity clackin' down the hall and your skirts that cover your legs as much as a dishrag. Well I'm gonna tell you once bitch, we all know your only there because you took your slut ass to that man and fucked him until it hurt to stand. We all know you slept your way to the top and don't you try to tell me otherwise. And yes you can call me lifeless. It's the nicest fucking thing you've ever said to me, but I'll tell you now I'm not. I've got kids I have a house, and unlike you I'm not in so much debt to the bank I have to be on the phone with them all day. So you don't dare tell how to act and talk and you don't tell me when I have to go to work because you hardly ever show up and way. Probably too busy blowing the man across the street." I spit the last words like they are poison in my mouth, sour and rancid.

Mindy is speechless for a solid 30 seconds, "If you ever speak to me like that again, you're fired."

"Don't bother, I quit!" I had wanted to say that for so long. "You can go fuck yourself at your desk, you better hold on tight missy, when this is all over, I am coming' to hell after you!"

I slam the phone down so hard it cracks down the middle. It is really broken now. I went over to the couch and threw myself onto it. I sit there for about 3 seconds, then the doorbell rings. I released a frustrated yell and stomp to the door.

There is nothing that could have prepared me to open the door to the scene before me. Nothing would take the pang of hurt and instant tears that ran away. And im glad. It felt right.

I carelessly yanked the door open, and all of my anger dissolved. That man stood before me, withered and worn. We stood silent for what felt like an eternity.

"Hello Annie."


	7. Bullets, Trains, And An Old Friend

I walked along the road, listening to Bobby talk about watching his parents do the dirty deed.

"Hey Paul, you ever see you parents?" Bobby's voice rang in my head and made me shiver. Ever since my dad went to the war, I haven't talked about him at all. Most of my friends know what happened, but Bobby claims to always forget.

At his question Myra, the only girl, jostles him with her elbow, "Shut up, man."

"Its fine," I fib, "Feelings get old. It doesn't hurt to talk anymore." One of the biggest lies I ever told was that I didn't care that my dad went the war. I was pleased by Myra telling Bobby to shut it. I couldn't really tell if it was because speaking of my father hurt, or because I had a huge crush on Myra, that it felt good. Myra was tall, at least 5'4, which made me feel puny for some reason at dumb old 5'2. She had short brown hair, long legs, and grey eyes. Her body was built perfect, thin and lean, and her lips looked like heaven to touch.

Anyway, you're probably wondering where we were going. Trevor, a small scrawny boy with straggly brown hair, had an uncle that worked for the police department. He brought his gun and ammo home every day after work. While over to visit, Trevor had swiped a magazine of his uncles beloved Umarex Walther. Today he had brought the bullets, and a slingshot. We were going down to the Helmer's marsh to pitch them at trees, to see how hard they had to hit to explode.

We managed to change the subject to how many naked women each of us had seen. Myra chose to desert this conversation when it began. Wise choice. We walked and talked until we reached the marsh. Trevor pulled the bullets out of his backpack and, of course, Bobby took charge.

"Alright, we're gonna take turns on pitching the bullets, Trevor first."

With a deep breath, Trevor took one of the bullets and loaded the slingshot. He lifted it to his eye and aimed for an old oak tree, about 10 yards away. We all held our breath as he released the satchel. The loud bang that echoed through the woods left our ears ringing.

Myra waved a hand in front of her face, "That was awesome!" she exclaimed.

"Well," Bobby said leaning to the side, "Paul, you shoot next."

I was turned facing the field, "What?"

"You shoot next." Myra said with a small smile, amused at my absent minded moment.

Trevor held out the slingshot and one of the bullets. I turned back to the fields, the area was open, and a stream ran over the far hill, creating the pond. The pond stretched to meet the bridge, then stopped. Under that bridge ran a train, and the train ran through here at 3:30 pm. I looked down at my watch, 3:00 on the spot. I smiled, "I got a better idea."

I balanced a bullet along the train rail, and looked at my watch again. 3:27 pm. The train would be here any minute.

"Um, Paul, are you sure that this is a good idea?" Myra scratched the back of her neck. She was nervous of this idea.

"Yeah, it'll work. Just stand back a bit, just in case a piece goes flying." I pull my arm back, and they follow it.

"This is the best idea that you have ever had." Bobby said. He was leaning against the stone pillar to the right of the tunnel; like he owned it.

"I think it's stupid." Trevor muttered.

Myra stood up a little straighter, "I'm with Trevor on this one. What if a train car blows up?"

Bobby rolled his eyes, "Nothings gonna blow up."

I was thoughtful. Maybe if I took the bullet back Myra would be impressed, upping my chances of her going to the school dance with me, if we ever had school again that is. "Uh, if Myra wants to take them down, then-!" before I could finish my sentence, the train tracks began to tremble on their wood base, resonating through the earth around them.

"Get back!" Bobby shouted. You didn't have to tell us twice. All four of us hugged our backs to the outside if the brick tunnel. Myra was next to me, her body pressed to wall. The train was getting closer, and as it did she shrank down a little, revealing about three inches of her flat white stomach. We stood silent as the vibrations grew nearer. It was not long before it was there. The trains horn was loud as time seemed to slow down, it felt as though those three seconds were an hour time. At first we heard nothing, then a loud pop stung at our ears. It sounded like a small bomb had gone off, and it was by far much louder than the one had shot at the tree. As it exploded, Myra fell into me, frightened by the sudden sound. She clawed at me for a second, then hugged herself to me, clinging for dear life.

The train passed in a matter of seconds, and we all stood when the last car disappeared in the trees.

"That was awesome!" Bobby said, the biggest smile I had ever seen him wear was printed sloppily on his face, and it absolutely devilish upon him.

"Awesome? That's your definition of awesome? What the fuck is wrong with you?" Myra was still holding on to me, but her voice was filled with red hot rage on the edge of the glass, threatening to spill over.

I waited for her to hit him, just she just stood there for a second, then turned away from me and started walking away.

"Hey, where are you going?" Bobby shouted after her.

"Home! Before you idiots get me killed!" She yelled back.

"Myra the last thing you parents need, is an angry girl walking in their door."

"The last thing my parents need is my name in the obituary." She continued walking. Bobby shook his head at her, he was being an ass today.

I looked at Trevor, who paler than a sheet of paper, "You alright?"

He looked at me, "Yeah, um. I don't feel very well, I think I'm gonna go home."

"Okay, don't forget your backpack, and change your clothes, your filthy." Trevor had fallen in a puddle of mud when the bullet had exploded, coating his clothes in a thick brown sludge.

As Trevor walked away, pack slung over his shoulder, Bobby looked at me, "That was totally bitchin' man." He leaned off to the side, "It's a shame Myra pussied out though."

I looked at him right in his face, searching for any soft expression, and smiled, "Y'know Bobby, you're an inconsiderate dick."

Bobby laughed, "Yeah keep telling yourself that."

I turned and ran after Myra. I didn't need to hear his excuse for talking about a lady that way. I could see Myra's blue blouse ahead of me, "Hey Myra, wait up!"

She turned at my voice, "Don't you have someone to kill right about now?"

"What's with you and death lately? It's scary to hear you talk about it so much."

"I just don't wanna die."

"You won't die anytime soon."

"Walk with me?"

"Why do you think I followed you?"

We walked towards our houses in silence for a couple of minutes, while I tried to work up some courage.

When I was about to burst, the words flowed out of my mouth quite easily, "Hey, Myra?"

"What?" she asked, smiling at me. God, she was gorgeous.

"Would you like to go to the school dance with me?"

Myra stared at me for what seemed like forever, "Well….."

I couldn't believe my embarrassment, "You don't want to be seen with a bastard like me, I get it."

"No, Paul-!"

"Its fine, I'm alright with it. No one wants to be seen with me."

"Paul," she grabbed my shoulder as I turned away, "I was going to say I would love to be seen with a bastard like you."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"That's great."

"Yeah. Home?"

"I would love to go home right about now."

We walked and talked until we stood in front of her house.

She turned and smiled at me, "I'll be seeing you."

"You too." I waved her off as she walked up the steps of her house, and then closed the front door behind her. I looked around me, and realized that I had to get home. The sun had begun to set behind the trees, and my mom would kill me if I was late for dinner. I started on my way in the direction of my house and started to think to myself. I had asked Myra Giselle Carter to the school dance. What if she stiffed me? What do I even have to wear? Why did I even ask her in the first place? Thoughts swirled in my head until I reached the steps of my home. I turned and traveled up them in my own disturbing silence.

When I walked through the door, I couldn't believe my eyes. By the door, an old worn military coat was laid over a Winchester rifle. I ran to the living room and almost shrieked with joy at the man I saw. Dark hair, blue eyes, square jaw, that old face I missed for so many years.

"Hey sport."

"Dad."


	8. Welcome Back

I ran as fast as I could across the room and collapsed in my dad's arms. He pulled me in tight and wrapped his arms around me. I remembered when my dad used to tuck me in at night; he used to tell me the most outrageous stories. One of my favorites he ever told me was about a princess (Yes a princess don't judge) who was turned into an ugly witch. Then in the end she drowned in a bunch of fudge and the people of her kingdom ate her. It's actually kind of ridiculous now that I think about it.

I could practically feel my mom's smile, warm and happy.

"Why didn't you ever write to us?' I asked, my voice muffled by my father's jacket.

"I couldn't write." It was clear now that he was crying. I didn't want him to cry, this was a good moment, I didn't want to remember it by the sound of his sobs.

"Don't cry." I gripped the front of his jacket and, choking on my own tears, pressed my face into his coat until the buttons hurt my face, no doubt leaving indents. After about two seconds of big man acting, I gave in. I cried like a baby that refused to be soothed. And I did refuse, I would not be happy until I was sure my dad would never leave me again.

I don't know how long I cried, but I know that the tears fell until my face was raw. I looked up when my father shifted. When my eyes met his he pulled out a handkerchief and handed it me. I took it and crumpled it up in my hand. A thought had begun to trouble me. What would my dad say when he discovered Marko? Would he be mad? Or would he accept that we made a serious decision without him?

I looked over at my mom and gestured to the stairs.

Thankfully, she understood what I meant. "Don? There's something we need to talk about."

My dad looked up; it was all over his face. Worry. And suspicion. "What Annie?"

My mom took a deep breath, "There's been an addition to the family."

"How do you mean?"

"We adopted a boy." My father was so quiet, I was afraid he might yell.

I shifted uncomfortably when my father opened his mouth to speak, "I want to see him."

My mother stood and motioned for him to follow her. She walked quickly, at a steady pace, with her posture like a flagpole.

We stood in front of his door in silence, "He's in there." My mom said.

My father turned the handle and stepped inside. He stopped in the middle of the room and looked around. The room had changed a bit since we had first put it together. The dresser had been moved beside the bed, the bookcase had been filled with books about art, math, history, and science. And his walls, once bare except for a basketball poster, had been covered in drawings. There were sketches of me and my mom, Burt's dog LuLu, and the oak tree in the backyard.

He turned until his eyes fell upon the bed. Marko had rolled onto his side, facing my father, he was leaned up on his elbow and big teal eyes bore holes into my father's face.

"Who is he?" Marko's voice was small and tired. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was a strange greenish, plaster color.

My mom cleared her throat, "Marko, this is Don. Paul's father. Don, this is Marko."

My dad studied Marko's face with sincere judgment. He had always been able to tell character traits by looking at a new persons face. My father was a good man, but he had trouble accepting sudden change.

"He'll make good worker. Smart boy," he looked around at all of the drawings on the walls, "Good with his hands." My dad turned and left the room, my mother following. I turned to leave as well, but a certain sketch on the wall caught my eye. It was the drawing of me leaning against the door frame that Marko had drawn when we first met. But that's not what spooked me. It was the drawing next to it. My father's army jacket, with his gun leaned up against it. Marko was sick. He wouldn't have had the strength to draw that. Which meant he had drawn it earlier that month. I turned back to ask him why he had drawn that, how he had drawn that without seeing it, but I froze in my place. This was ridiculous. Marko had probably gone down stairs earlier and seen it. This was my reactive mind making my decisions, always the stupid shit.

I turned and walked out to the hallway and down the stairs. In the kitchen, my dad had his arms wrapped around my mom's waist, and his lips were pressed against hers. I'd forgotten how mushy they could be, and normally I would make noise so they'd stop, but being as my dad hadn't kissed her in 4 years; I'd give them a break. Instead I leaned against the door frame and smiled at them. Even after all these years, they still loved each other.

My dad eventually looked up at me. "Don't mind me." I said teasingly.

My dad smiled and held out his arm, "C'mere sport." I hesitated for a moment before I walked across the kitchen towards them.

"Dad?" I asked.

"What bud?"

"Are you gonna make us get rid of Marko?"

My dad looked at me puzzled, "Why would I do that?"

"Are you?"

"No. he has just as much right to have a home as anyone else." I relaxed a little as he said that. It horrified me to think he might do that. I had grown close to the clown haired boy, and I didn't want to get rid of him. He got along with me and my mother, and hopefully my dad would come to be close to him as well.

"Well," My dad put one arm around me and my mom, "Why don't you all get me updated on what's been goin' on."

He looked at me. It was well known that I was the talker of the family. So I opened my mouth, and I began to speak.


	9. What The Hell

Anne's POV

I don't know how to put my joy into words. The idea that Don was still alive after four long years of military and war was amazing. I was surprised actually, that he didn't seem to be any different than before he enlisted.

Paul had talked for a straight 3 hours. The boy had always been a motor mouth, but he covered pretty much everything. Burt moved his store, Carrie moved to Washington to take care of her grandmother, Toby got a new dog and named it Kane, and they had temporarily closed the school. After that, Don put him to bed. He'd passed out instantly.

Now me and Don ourselves had gone to bed. Well, not to sleep.

Don put his hand gently against my bare hip and kissed my ribcage. "I missed you so much." He muttered, his mouth sliding up my side to tickle my left breast. I pulled my leg over to straddle him, and flipped onto my back. He pushed himself up to look at me. He stayed elevated above me for a moment, then lowered himself back down. He planted kisses in a straight line from my right breast down to just above my panties. He slid his hands down to remove them, slowly. He dragged them down to my knees, and I kicked them off the rest of the way. He kissed the inside of my thigh, and pulled himself along my body until our lips met. I could feel his own, pressed gently against mine. He pulled me over him, for me to be on top. I put my lips to his sternum, then back on his lips. One hand cupped my breast, the other came to touch mine. I drew in a sharp breath and allowed my body to lay flat upon his.

The next few hours were lovely. I'd missed our episodes so much; you could say I enjoyed myself a little too much. But I missed him, and he deserved a proper welcome.

So, what the hell?


	10. Ruined

Marko's POV

Thunk. Thunk. I threw the stones one by one out into the woods behind the house. They bounced off of trees and other rocks. It had been a couple weeks since I had the flu, since Don came up. Anne had been forcing me to show some interest in what he did in his spare time, which was pretty much useless because every time I got near him the only thing he wanted to do was be nosy about my past. I told this to Anne a couple of times, but all she said is that I should be grateful that he's interested in my life. I didn't feel grateful, I felt harassed. And God, he wanted to know where I was all the time. It was like he thought that any second I could be upstairs slitting Paul's throat or something.

I threw another stone. This one flew far into the woods, until it landed in the creek with a hollow *plink*. I didn't like Don, and that was final. Maybe someday I would get along with him, but in the meantime, I don't. It was the way Don treated me. If I spilled the milk at dinner, he sent me upstairs. If I leave my coat on the floor in front of the hanger, he made me clean the front hallway spotless, and if I missed even the tiniest speck, he made me do it all over again. If I tracked mud in the house, I had to shine every single shoe on the block, instead of just having me clean it up. Paul did all of these things as well. But does Paul get in trouble? No. Because he was Dons only son and no matter what he did he was an innocent, harmless little child.

I picked up another rock. It was smooth, flat, and round; perfect for skipping. I turned to the side and focused on getting the proper form. Angelo had showed me how to skip a rock once, but I sucked at it. I put my fingers in the position he had showed me just under a year ago. Pulling my arm back, I let it fly. The stone launched between two trees and disappeared from sight.

"Marko?" I looked up at my name. Don stood in the back doorway of the house, gazing at me. He saw the pile of stones beside me and his face darkened.

"Boy! If you're throwin' them rocks at Burt and Mary's place, I'll whip you with my belt! You hear me?"

I nodded, "Yes sir." Don stood silent a moment, then went back inside. I turned and threw a rock so hard it hurt my arm. Why did he always have to assume the worst about me?

I turned to go inside when I heard an awful yowl. I looked back. The sound had come from the woods. Without a thought, I began walking through the thicket. I didn't have to walk too far to find the source of the sound. A black cat, small and skeletal, had been caged in a coon trap. My stone, which I had thrown not a minute before, had become lodged in between two of the bars.

I reached for it, but the cat swatted at my hand. I scowled at it, rubbing my scratched fingers. Ideas raced through my head, wretched things I could do to this cat. Evil things. I decided to go with my first idea. I turned to go to the shed but turned back. Would the cat escape? I pushed the thought from my head; the cat would not get out. I wouldn't be gone long enough for it to have a chance.

As I expected, I was back at the cage site in no more than five minutes. The cat hissed and scratched at the bars, like it knew what I was going to do to it. Without hesitation, I pulled off the cap on the jug and dumped it contents on the felines head and body. I threw the container a couple yards away and pulled open the box. The smell of gasoline was intoxicating, dizzying my sight and clouding my thoughts. I drug the match stick along the strike strip on the side of the box, instantly igniting flames.

Holding the match above the cats back, I said "Non mi gratti, voi cosa pietosa." I dropped the match on the cats back, just between its shoulder blades.

Flames raced along its back at a satisfying speed. The cat began to screech and thrash in anger and pain. If I couldn't see the flames, I would say the cat was rabid. The fur burned away, revealing pinkish gray flesh, which was quickly blackened by the heat. The cat continued to yell, and scream no longer in anger, but pure, utter pain and discomfort. Then the smell reached my nose. It was of burning hair and skin, mixed with the acidic stench of scorching gasoline. I shuddered violently at the scent. It stung both my eyes and my nose at once, a double act. Through my own discomfort, I forced myself to watch the animals shrivel and die. The cats crying had died down to nothing, leaving its still searing corpse in the cage. The flames were now biting at the intestines and other organs. The smell was intensifying in the air. The rancid fragrance made my stomach turn, giving me the urge to vomit.

I don't know how long I stood there, examining the burning cadaver, but it was quite a while for when I turned to go back to the house, the only things left were a few straggling bones. I grabbed the matches and gasoline jug and trudged back to the house.

I put the gas and matches back in the shed before I went into the house. I walked through the kitchen and approached the stairs.

"Marko?" For the second time that day, I turned at my name. Anne was looking at me with a listless face, like she wasn't really paying attention to what she needed to tell me. "What?"

"My mother is coming down this weekend to visit. She wants to meet you." Anne said she looked a little bothered as she said this. She was worried about something.

"Okay." Was all I said. I turned and headed upstairs. I went into my room, and closed and locked the door. I pulled off my jacket and threw it on the bed. I adjusted the gauze covering my hands. I had scarred both of my palms when I grabbed the windowsill. The pain that had come those scars was impossible to erase from my mind. And the sound of the sirens…..no, I would not think about that night. That night had ruined me. I managed a sour smile. Ruined. That's what I was; a ruined little boy.

**(Non mi gratti voi cosa pietosa= you do not scratch you pitiful thing- in Italian)**


	11. Abuse, Books, and Aholes Oh My!

Marko's POV

(Flashback)

"_Buonanotte riccio." She brushed a curl away from my forehead. Everyone said I had her looks, dishwater curls, gentle jaw, pale skin. The Italian look, without the deep tan and dark hair._

"_Di notte la mamma." I replied. I was tired and weighed down, but I now had a long, dragging day behind me now, maybe I could sleep._

_She pulled the covers up to my chin and poised her hand over the light switch, her pregnant belly sticking out in front of her, "Ti amo."_

"_Amo anche voi mamma." She clicked off the light switch and closed the door. I rolled over, closed my eyes, and fell asleep._

_ I coughed and gagged. A thick mixture swirled through the air, suffocating me and burning my eyes. I struggled with my covers, which had immobilized my legs. When free, I stumbled from my bed. Red, orange flames danced across the wall and carpet. The heat felt as though you had shoved my face into some hot coals. Aimlessly I rushed out the door and into the hallway. My heart pounded as I raced for the steps. I was just about there when a beam fell burning from the ceiling. It dropped in the most unfortunate place, and blocked the way to the stairs. I ran down the hallway. Out. I wanted out, I needed out. All I could think about was out. Without paying attention, I stumbled over a piece of burnt wood and almost fell. I reached out and grabbed the first thing that was in front of me. An ablaze window sill. A raging pain exploded in my palms and fingertips. I yelped and fell back. I looked around, grasping my hands together in pain. The window was the only way out. Pain was constant in my eyes and throat. The window it was._

_(End flashback)_

I woke up in a cold sweat and jolted straight in my bed. My breathing was rapid and painful. I released a sharp sob. My cheeks were soaked in my tears and my face felt raw, leaving a stinging feeling in my eyes and my nose. I curled into a ball and rocked back and forth on my bed, comforted by the motion, and cried into my knees. The dreams had started when I first slept in the adoption home. But the more I had, the more vivid they became. It started with the smell, which consisted of burning wood and plaster. Then it simply accumulated from there, going from the smell to the sight, to the heat. But tonight it came with the pain and all else with it. The hurt of my fingers touching the window, the stench of my own burning flesh, it was like it was happening all over again.

I sat there crying like a delusional lunatic for at least a half hour before I started to calm down. It was over, there was nothing I could do about it, what's the point of crying? Standing up, I went into the bathroom and washed my face. I changed into clean clothes and walked downstairs to the kitchen, where Anne and Paul were talking about the school dance this weekend.

Anne looked up at me, "Mornin' sunshine."

"Hi." I said dully, standing at the bottom of the stairs. I walked in silence to the living room. I picked up my shoes and sat on the couch to put them on. Don, who had been laid back in the armchair reading the Sunday paper, stood up and loomed over me. My heart began to beat a little faster. Don didn't treat me like you would think a man would treat a first grader, he treated me like criminal, like I was some useless fuck-up with no chance in life. Don scared me. I focused on tying my left shoelace, trying desperately to resist the urge to go hide behind Anne.

"Boy, whatever happened to make you so quiet? All you do is mope around, throw rocks, and draw all damn day. What's wrong with you?" Don's voice was hard and mean. He reached out to grab my shoulder, and that's when I snapped. I barely dodged his grip and bolted straight into the kitchen. Anne was standing by the counter. She turned when I entered the narrow passage between the sink and the table, and released a startled gasp when I cowered behind her legs. Don came slowly into the kitchen and looked down the walkways.

"Don, what's going on?" Anne asked. Don shook his head and walked into the other room.

Anne turned around and bent down to my level, "What happened?"

The school buses horn sounded outside. I looked over at the door, then back at Anne. Paul came pounding down the stairs, "C'mon Marko, we're gonna be late."

I pulled away from Anne, grabbed my book bag, and followed Paul out the door. I ran down the steps and didn't stop until I was sitting at the back of the bus. Paul, as usual, turned and walked down the sidewalk away from the house. Paul played hooky everyday. As far as I knew, Paul couldn't even read.

I slumped low in my seat and tried not to be seen. My hands shook and I shivered. I had forgotten to grab my jacket when I rushed out the door. I held my backpack tightly to my chest for warmth, leaned my head against the bus seat, and closed my eyes.

(Flashback)

Sirens blared in the distance. One of the neighbors had called the police. I stood on the front sidewalk and stared as the house continued to blaze. My heart seemed to have stopped in my chest as I watched my home go up in flames, knowing that my parents and my brothers were trapped inside. Someone picked me up from behind. Cars with flashing lights, vans, and red fire trucks had pulled up around the block. Everything else was a blur in front of my eyes. I was placed to sit in the back of a car with sliding glass in between the front and back seat. The sounds around me were muffled, as if I had cotton in my ears. I don't know how much time passed, but I came to when I saw the stretcher. On the cloth platform lay a figure. I stood and moved closer to the stretcher, hoping to get a glimpse of whoever it was.

I froze in my tracks when I recognized the face, "Mama?"

Burns covered her arms and legs. Her nightgown had been singed to black and ash. I reached out and my fingers grazed her thigh before someone yanked me back. The people around the stretcher lifted my mother into the back of one of the vans. As the legs reclined from the ground and back to the platforms frame my mother let out a strained groan.

The people around me began to chatter in English. Often I used to wake to my parent yelling at each other in English. I didn't know much, but I knew enough to know what the people around me were saying.

"What's wrong with her?"

"She's going into premature labor." I didn't know what that meant, but I didn't like it.

(End Flashback)

"Son, son. Wake up boy!" Someone jolted my shoulder. I looked up to see the bus driver hovering over me, "It's your stop son."

I looked out the window at the elementary school, then back at the bus driver, "Thank you."

"No problem. Now will you get off mi'bus before I get in trouble for not droppin' ya' off?" I stood and made my way down the aisle. Walking, I couldn't help but smile. I admired the slang everyone spoke here. It made me feel good for no apparent reason, and I couldn't get enough of it.

I stood in front of the steps to school. The bus hummed as it drove away, a pleasant sound. I ascended the stone stairs and pushed open the door. The hallway was in the usual morning chaos. Papers flew through the air; backpacks were placed on top of lockers by taller kids so the short ones couldn't get them down. But the older kids were the worst. Some shaved, others tried to count their pit hairs, and girls giggled like hysterical monkeys and openly exchanged feminine products. Ah, the magic of puberty. Yeah, magic my ass. I had my fingers crossed that the day would never come when I start growing pubic hair.

I approached my classroom and gazed through the window. All of my peers were running amok throughout the room, pushing each other and wrestling on the floor. They were all in there. Crap.

Holding my breath, I entered the classroom holding up my binder to protect my face. Just as I expected, balled up paper immediately began to fly towards my head and bounce off my shoulders and my school supplies

I walked until I got to my desk. I placed my things on the cheap wood surface and plunked myself into my seat just as Ms. Gale walked in pulling a gray cart.

"'Mornin kids!" She chirped

"Good morning Ms. Gale!" The class all chimed at once. Ms. Gale pulled the cart to her podium and stood up with a smile. Ms. Gale was not like other teachers. She was actually pretty, not sour and grumpy like Mrs. Harlington across the hall. She had long wavy black hair with blonde highlights that framed her heart shaped face. She had big grey eyes and button nose above heart shaped lips, she was about 5'8. Today she wore a coral colored blouse with pale white jeans and a cleaned up pair of boots with a grey pea coat to match her eyes.

"Alright. This morning, y'all are gonna try'n guess what I got under the sheet, K?" She said this lightheartedly, kindly; something I had found that many people had talents speaking in this specific area of Cokeville, Wyoming.

People began raising their hands and guessing what she had under the sheet while I stared off into space. People were actually quite nice around this area, and it surprised me. When I first met Burt, I was afraid the man would strike me, but Burt ended up being one of the most caring people I knew, and his wife Mary, a beautiful woman. I know it's a silly thought, but I swear, Mary's an angel. Now don't get your panties in a bunch, I'm not hitting on her, I mean she's a grown woman, and married. Ms. Gale was a kind spirited person. I really liked her. Again, not in that way.

"Marko? Marko?"

I looked up, "What?"

Ms. Gale laughed, "Day dreaming are we? I wanted to know if you could guess what's under the sheet."

"Oh." I looked at the nude colored canvas and thought hard. Art utensils? No, too small. Animals? No, there wasn't a peep coming from that tarp. Books? My best guess yet.

I raised my attention to Ms. Gale, "Readers?"

Ms. Gale smiled brightly. She pulled the sheet off of the roll desk and revealed leather bound books. "You will all get a book today, and since Marko guessed correctly, he will be the first to select a reader."

I stood cautiously, aware that everyone in the room had their eyes on me. I walked slowly to the front. I was about halfway up the aisle when I heard the first word. People whispered back and forth many derogatory terms and words that all stood for the same thing. Italian.

"Goombah."

"Grease ball."

These terms I didn't mind so much, it was the last one I heard that took me aback.

"He ain't no better than them niggers."

I whirled around as this was spoken, and came face to face with the speaker, "What did you say?"

Gary Wite, a thick sinewy boy stared right back at me. He repeated it, a little louder this time, "I said you ain't no better than them niggers on the Hanson farm."

"Gary Chester!" Ms. Gale gasped, "Why would you say that!?"

Gary looked up at Ms. Gale, "Well it's true. My daddy said so." He looked back at me, "He said if you ain't born in America then you've no right to walk on the land."

I snapped. Ms. Gale rushed down the walkway but it was too late.

My fist connected with Gary's nose.

**Buonanotte riccio- Goodnight son**

**Di notte la mamma- 'Night mama**

**Ti amo- I love you**

**Amo anche voi mamma- I love you too mama**

**(I'll try to update sooner next time. )- PoisonBones**


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